


The Haunting Presence

by Kobayakawa



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dracula AU, F/M, Peasant!Belle, Vampire!Rumple, angsty, fast burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-08 20:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12872061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kobayakawa/pseuds/Kobayakawa
Summary: Dracula AU.Belle decides to slay the Beast.





	1. A Miserable Little Pile of Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is my OUAT debut. Shouldn't have too many chapters, but they will be lengthy later on.
> 
> Thanks for clicking here and I hope you enjoy it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a Castlevania reference because I can't write a story with vampires without referencing CV.

The Dark Castle loomed over Avonlea, its black presence an indomitable colossus feared by all.

There lived a blood-starved beast disguised as man; he who mercilessly devoured the life from the citizens of the small town. One adult man or woman on the first day of every month, never any less. The victims would be taken from their homes, hidden under floorboards and inside wardrobes it mattered not, for the Beast would always find his prey and trap them into the dark of night. In the morning their bloodless corpses would appear close by Avonlea’s gates, pale as death.

Countless times brave warriors have ventured to the Beast’s castle with the intention of slaying it. Every warrior, every fool, returned dead. Soon, lone men became dozens of soldiers with grandiose armor and swords, sent by the King with the intention of putting an end to the terror that assailed Avonlea. However, they only ever succeeded on fattening the Beast.

Eventually, even the King came to see the Beast as an impossible enemy to slay, perhaps immortal, and declared that no one else ought to seek the Dark Castle.

”Feed the Beast every month,” declared the King, “it has never asked for anything more than twelve sacrifices per year. We can only give it what it asks for.”

The people of Avonlea sneered at the King. They did not give anything, it was robbed from them. But hopeless and without the assistance of their monarch, most had accepted their fate. The Beast was to be fed.

However, some remained with the dream of defeating the Beast and freeing Avonlea from the blood-starved one who terrified all. Among those there was a man named Gaston.

He was no common citizen. The son of a most wealthy merchant, he was known for being strong and brave, proud winner of many sword art competitions. Almost every night, in one of Avonlea’s bar or brothels, Gaston would vehemently speak of marching to the Dark Castle and slaying the Beast. “The men of the King are weak!” said he. “Weak and pathetic! The beast is not immortal, and it can’t keep taking our brothers and sisters and killing them like cattle. I’ll kill it one day, don’t you doubt.”

Gaston, for all his bravery and strength, was not very intelligent. He believed all problems could be solved with a sharp blade and enough nagging, which was what, in a peaceful Sunday morning, earned him stern words from a young woman named Belle. ”Gaston, if more than a dozen men couldn’t kill the Beast then you alone won’t be able to,” said she. “In fact, at this point I’m quite sure that the Beast can only be killed using intelligence. Even an entire army of men holding pointy sticks can’t solve everything.”

Gaston laughed mockingly, the way Belle despised the most. It was similar to how young boys would sneer at colleagues who couldn’t play ball games well. “You don’t understand, Belle. How are you going to kill the Beast using your intelligence? Are you going to sit down with it and have a match of chess?” he laughed again. “No, sweetheart. All that takes to kill anything is going up on them knowing how to wield a blade.”

Belle herself constantly daydreamed of the day when the people of Avonlea no longer had to fear the one who lived at the Dark Castle. Whoever the monster was, he ought to have been brought to justice. All the sleepless nights at the first day of every month, when her father would lock all doors and ask her to hide until the sun appeared, all the terrifying mornings when she left her house to ask about who had been taken, were burned into her memory.

But Belle didn’t believe for the Beast to be _beast_ , though she called him just that for lack of a better term. Whoever lived on the Dark Castle had never taken a boy or girl under the age of eighteen, and he always returned the bodies of those he took. If he truly was nothing more than a monster, then why continue to follow what seemed to be rules that he made for himself?

No, he was not a beast. He was most certainly comparable to one, but he was a man with conscience. That meant that yes, he could be fooled and taken to his own death, and perhaps even reasoned with to stop his killings. Of course, she would never share those thoughts with Gaston. The commentary regarding killing the Beast with intelligence was already a mistake on her part. He would only ever laugh.

That night, laying alone in her bed with thoughts of the Beast, she thought of a foolish, dangerous plan.

There probably was no more than one person living in the Dark Castle. She couldn’t be sure of this, of course. Perhaps the Beast had a lover or a maid, but ignoring that possibility, who cared for the castle’s master? Who scrubbed the floors, washed his clothes and kept him company? He was but a man; without anyone by his side he would certainly be lonely. Did he desire someone? Did he dream of a companion?

If he did, perhaps that was the key to slaying him; pretending to be a friend until he let down his defenses, and then bringing a blade upon his neck when he expected it the least.

One could say this method was dishonorable, but if it was the only way to kill the Beast, then honor was not to be considered.

At times, there seemed to be no salvation for the citizens of Avonlea. It was understood that they couldn’t run away to another town; the Beast would simply terrorize their new home. Were they simply to forever stand and watch men and women die?

And though Belle was truly heroic, there was a part of her mind that longed for the adoration she would receive if she were to save her hometown. She would be respected, recognized as more than a womb. She could be celebrated, known for being more than a simple pretty girl.

Belle had only shared her dreams of heroism with a few close friends, but all of them always tried to convince her of her foolishness. “There’s only happy endings in those books you read,” they said. “The world is too dangerous, Belle, especially for a woman. Better to live a long and peaceful life than go out slaying monsters!”

Maybe they were right. Maybe she was just a silly girl who read too many books. But what if she wasn’t? What if she was brave and wise enough to become a hero? Oh, how capable she felt of holding a blade and becoming a hunter. So much so that the advice of those who loved her became distant voices, overtaken by the songs the bards would sing in her honor.

The next morning, however, Belle was reminded of a reason not to seek the Beast.

”Oh, I’ve made such a mess!” said Maurice, a bit embarrassed. He burned the eggs.

”Good morning, papa,” said Belle, and kissed his cheek. “Why are you cooking? I always make breakfast.”

”Yes, that’s the thing, you always make breakfast. I thought maybe I should try, for once. Maybe learn.”

Belle laughed. The eggs looked like charcoal. “Maybe I’ll teach you then. But for now, why don’t you let me fix this up? Just so we don’t go hungry.”

”That might be best,” said Maurice, caressing his respectable moustache. He always did that whenever he was embarrassed.

While she cooked breakfast, she thought of how she could never leave her papa. How would he survive his daughter’s death, when he barely survived her mother’s? And what are the odds that the Beast would be interested in knowing her instead of just taking her blood at the moment she reached the castle?

Such thoughts played in her head, and they felt like torture. Fifteen days from then, if she were to do nothing, she would hide under the floorboards one more time, and in the morning ask of the deceased (if she was not taken herself).

How could she keep on living like that? How could anyone?

”Belle?”

Came a knock on the door and Gaston’s voice. Gods, what did he want with her so early?

”I’ll get the door,” said Maurice.

Belle sighed. Her papa knew how much she disliked Gaston and would try to make the young man go away, but Maurice never quite managed to get rid of him.

As expected, about ten seconds later, the swordsman entered the kitchen with a proud smile on his face. Not another marriage proposal, hopefully.

”Belle! Good morning. Looking as beautiful as always.”

”Good morning, Gaston. Thank you.”

Behind the man, Maurice mouthed ‘sorry’.

”So, as I was saying yesterday, I’m going to kill the Beast,” said Gaston.

”Well, you didn’t say that you were going to, you said you were thinking about it.”

”Either way, it’s about time someone gets the job done, and I can think of no one more apt than me.”

Belle very much disliked Gaston, but she didn’t want to see him dead. She believed what she had said the day before; if a dozen of the King’s men couldn’t slay the Beast, then neither could one warrior alone. But she hadn’t quite given up reasoning with him.

”Say you’re not just going to knock on the door and point a stick at the Beast. Say you have a plan.”

”Belle, sweetheart, I already said it yesterday and I’m going to say it again today; a sword is all it takes. And stop calling it a stick, it’s not just a stick.”

”Yes, I suppose you’re right,” said she, and Gaston smirked, “it’s not just a stick, it’s a pointy stick.” He sighed.

”No matter. I’ll prove you wrong by tomorrow. That’s not the only thing I came to talk with you about.”

There was a playfulness in Gaston’s eyes, mingling with lust, and Belle had suspicions as what the ‘other thing’ was. “Gaston, if it’s a marriage proposal—“

”Not today. Tomorrow, when I come back with the Beast’s head, is when I’ll ask.”

And with that and some more attempts at being charming, Gaston left. Looking out of her home’s window, Belle saw men and women waiting for him outside. They would all accompany him halfway to the Dark Castle, as it was common to do whenever a warrior dared to take a blade to the Beast’s door.

”Do you think he’ll be alright, papa?” asked Belle, uneasily.

”I don’t know, my sweet. Let’s hope for the best. It’s all we can do for him.”

Belle couldn’t settle down for the rest of the day. She moved about, one menial task after the other, as her mind wandered to the Dark Castle. Was Gaston fighting the Beast at that very moment? Would it be a ferocious fight, or would the swordsman be killed in no longer than a second? Was his corpse being carried through the mud? Was the Beast drinking his blood?

The terrors were vivid in her mind, and nothing she did was enough to distract her. She lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling for so very long, and perhaps it was the dark of night that made her braver, made her forget her poor father, but she decided that if Gaston did not return to Avonlea alive, she would go to the Beast’s castle.

In the early morning, before Maurice or anyone else in the town woke up, she would leave her house and stand by the town’s gates. Would she see the Beast then, leaving Gaston’s body in the cold ground? Or would she only see the corpse?

That night, sleep felt like a task for Atlas.

Long ago, when Belle was a child and her mother had only recently died, she had been terrified of sleeping. She feared nightmares would come, as they so often did. The little girl would see her mother as she was on her deathbed; pale as death, with red eyes and a feeble mind. Such nightmares would wake her up in tears, and she would be unable to sleep again.

That childhood fear showed its ugly head, but what she feared that night was not the image of her weak mother, but the sight of Gaston’s lifeless body under the claws of the Beast. Oh, she knew so well that he who lived at the Dark Castle was but a blood-starved man, but that night all she could see him as was an animal, a deformed wolf with filthy teeth, cutting through his enemy’s delicate flesh with ease.

However, Belle didn’t dream that night. It would be a lie to say that she rested well, her sleep was light and little, but she was thankful she was given peace for a few hours. Successful in waking up early, she left her home when the sun’s light was faint.

In the town’s gates she found the horror; Gaston, exactly as he was clothed the day before, his skin colorless and his mouth agape. He had two black, deep wounds in his neck.

Belle closed her eyes and covered her mouth with her hands, suppressing the urge to vomit. It wasn’t the first time that she had seen the corpse of one of the Beast’s victims, but the sight still disturbed her.

She went back to her home, shaken and somewhat dizzy, but with the absolute certainty that this madness couldn’t continue. The Beast couldn’t be killed by foolish warriors, but Belle knew that no one in this world is truly immortal. The blood-starved man could be killed, she had simply to understand how.

Too restless to go back to bed, she started making breakfast. She ought to go to the Dark Castle soon. Abandon her papa, leave him to burn his own eggs and make terrible soup until he learned how to cook for himself. She couldn’t wait, not anymore.

After Maurice woke up she spoke of Gaston’s death, and father embraced his daughter warmly. When Belle was younger he spoke words of comfort, saying he would keep her safe, but once she matured enough to understand that he couldn’t keep his promises all that remained was a mournful silence.

It only made the determination in Belle’s heart burn brighter. 

As much as she wished to speak with someone frankly about the subject, there was no one in the town that wouldn’t discourage her. Her plan would be called insane, suicidal, and perhaps it was, but she strongly believed it was the only hope Avonlea had to get rid of the Beast.

Belle decided she would go to the Dark Castle and ask for a position as a maid, say there was nowhere else for her to be in the world. Maybe tell the Beast she was a fugitive. Then she would bid her time, wait patiently until the moment came. Observe the man and seek his weaknesses.

Oh, it was obviously a flimsy plan at best, but what other option there was? She needed to try, and if she died trying then so be it.

She hardened her heart as much as she could, telling herself her bravery could save dozens of innocent souls, and so she gathered enough strength to write a farewell letter to her papa. She didn’t tell her intentions or where she was going, fearing Maurice would follow her. It was best to simply write an ambiguous letter and accept his heart would be broken.

After her father was asleep she left the letter on the kitchen table, then she packed food and clothing, but no weapons. If the Beast wished to see her belongings, he would immediately be suspicious of her murderous intentions upon finding she carried a knife. Either way, she only needed to worry about a weapon after earning his trust.

She left Avonlea furtively. The night sky was as clear as it had ever been, and with the Dark Castle looming on the horizon she couldn’t possibly end up lost.

Walking on the dust road, she thought of Gaston. He must have walked this very same road, marching towards his death while believing he marched towards glory. Was she? Would her papa look down at her lifeless body tomorrow?

_Possibly,_ she thought.

The Dark Castle was imposing. It possessed none of the tall walls that normally surrounded a castle’s gardens, but some aspect of its tall towers made it feel impenetrable. Or was it simply the knowledge of the Beast’s presence?

Belle only had to knock once for the castle’s black doors to open.

”Hello? Is someone there?” asked she, slowly walking inside, searching for any signs of the Beast.

”Did you come to kill me, dearie?”

A man’s voice came from the top of the staircase. There she saw the Beast’s figure softly illuminated by candlelight.

Belle never before had tried to imagine what the man would look like, but seeing him still surprised her. He wore red robes that strangely contrasted with his pale skin, and his brown hair and eyes, along with the lines in his face that denoted he was past his prime, were anything but beast-like. The man in front of Belle did not fit the image of a murderous monster as much as it did that of a gentle aristocrat.

”No, I—I’m looking for shelter.”

”Oh, are you quite sure?” there was mockery in his voice, and Belle’s heart sped up at every step he took. “It’s not raining or snowing. In fact, I’d say it’s quite a pleasant night. No reason to seek shelter.”

Belle took a deep breath, somewhat afraid of the possibility that the Beast could clearly see her fear, but she very much wanted to be able to speak without her voice breaking. “It’s quite dangerous for a woman to sleep on the roads, and I carry no weapon. Seemed wiser to look for a roof.”

The Beast stood closely enough for Belle to observe that he had perfectly white teeth, cleaner than any other man she had ever seen, though they were crooked. “So you believed the castle of a stranger to be safer than the road,” he said, his smile like a devil’s. “Very well. You may sleep on one of my rooms. Follow me.”

He started walking down one of the halls and Belle followed, observing with fascination that the candles lit up as he walked by. So he was able to use magic as well? Slaying him would be harder, but at least he hadn’t killed her already. He was open to her presence, which was as much of a good sign as she could’ve hoped for.

”Shelter was not the only thing I was looking for, actually,” said Belle. “I wanted a job. I can cook and clean, so if you need a maid…”

The Beast laughed and Belle paled. “Well, I expected they would eventually realize how futile it is to send warriors to my door, but a maid?”

”I don’t—“

He turned around and looked at Belle, mocking brown eyes and wide smile, and she could see his canine teeth, not quite as large as a wolf’s, but seemingly just as sharp. “Don’t take me for a fool, dearie. There is not one soul who doesn’t know the Beast of the Dark Castle. So, do you intend to murder me in my sleep? Seduce me, perhaps?”

Belle was shocked into silent, but only for a moment. He believed her intentions to be murderous, but until he drank the blood that coursed through her veins there was still hope for her to trick him into thinking otherwise. “I do know who you are, of course,” said she, “but I came here hoping you wouldn’t kill a simple maid! And don’t tell me you don’t need one when there’s so much dust everywhere.”

The Beast took to walking again, but she had humored him. “What is a man,” said he, “if not a miserable little pile of secrets?” And laughed quietly.

Belle didn’t know how to answer, but soon enough he stopped in front of a door. “This will be your room,” said he. “I’ll want my breakfast served early tomorrow, at seven. I’m sure you can find the kitchen and the dining room yourself. Don’t be late! Wouldn’t want to make a mistake on your first day, would you?”

”Thank you, Master,” said Belle, smiling. “Oh, and I’m Belle.”

”I’d rather you call me Rumplestiltskin, Belle.”

Before she could say anything else he vanished into thin air, leaving her alone in the corridor. She opened the door to her room.

The room was far too fancy for any maid and as dusty as the rest of the castle, but Belle couldn’t bring herself to care. She wasn’t dead, his name was Rumplestiltskin, and he actually wanted breakfast. He ate? She had been quite sure that he only drank the blood of his victims, but perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps he used the blood in some other mysterious way, or perhaps there was another being living at the castle who drank it.

Well, no point in thinking about it now. She got up and shook the dust off of the sheets before laying in them, completely exhausted. She should’ve changed to her camisole, but her body felt so heavy that getting up again seemed like an impossible task. Better sleep as soon as possible.


	2. Flicker

Heavy curtains like storm clouds barred the moonlight, and any human would find themselves lost. The Master of the castle, however, walked through its corridors like one may run their hands against their own skin.

The Beast had not expected any visitors.

Foolish men with their blood-stained dreams always stopped coming after the death of one of their own, if at least for a few weeks. What was the name of the last feast? Gaston? Rumplestiltskin had hoped he wouldn’t hear the approaching footsteps of any more heroic souls after him, but alas, a girl came.

No better than Gaston, she.

He needn’t know her to know of her intentions; there was not one soul in this land who wouldn’t kill him, had they the chance.

Rumplestiltskin opened the door to his study and sat in a chair, illuminated by the magic of his potions. Most of them sparkled like little stars.

She said her name was Belle. Her blue eyes were enchanting, and what lovely brown hair, touching her porcelain skin, falling in gentle waves down her shoulders. He had always been such a fool for women like her. But even if he wasn’t a beast and she didn’t wish to carry his disembodied head to Avonlea, he would never interest a woman like her.

Rumplestiltskin opened one of his study’s windows for the first time in years. Before the merciless morning comes he’ll close it again, but during those nightly hours he leaned against the windowsill. Even something as inhuman as the wind felt lonely that night.

Why did his mind still remember romance? Why did it still dare to hope for it? Alas, nothing tortures a lonely heart quite like a pretty face. But no woman loved him before he became a monster. It was foolish to hope any would now.

The girl only wants to see him dead. Everybody does.

The wind softly touches his cheek, and it almost feels like a caress.

Tonight will be a long night.

✿

Belle woke up to an unfamiliar ceiling. It took some moments for her hazy mind to recall where she was, but eventually the memories of the prior day washed over her.

A maid at the Dark Castle.

It was almost laughable.

Through the window of her room she saw that the sun had barely risen and thanked the gods for not oversleeping. She quickly changed into a cleaner dress, and thought of how tempting the bath seemed to be. Well, no matter. She could bathe at night. She had to find the kitchen and the dining room.

The Dark Castle’s corridors were no different from a maze. All windows were covered by thick, dusty curtains that allowed for no sunlight. The candles in the walls, however, seemed to indicate a way, their little lights like breadcrumbs in a midnight forest. Following the lit candles was Belle’s only option. It was very much possible to take one of the wall candles and explore the paths that had been left without light, but she considered the possibility that Rumplestiltskin wanted to guide her somewhere.

And indeed, following the lit candles did lead Belle to the kitchen.

There she found fresh fruit, bread, milk and eggs. Where did he get all this food from? Magic? Did he actually buy it? Surely, there wasn’t one merchant in the entire kingdom that would have the courage to deny the Beast anything, but if Rumplestiltskin had been terrorizing the merchants she would’ve heard something about it.

Either way, there was a more pressing question in her mind than the origin of the food.

Could she possibly poison him?

Probably not. He seemed intelligent and was suspicious of her. Surely he wouldn’t eat anything she served without making her taste it first. There was silver cutlery in the kitchen too, which can be used to detect arsenics. Trying to poison him was too risky. There were simply too many ways for him to see through her ploy.

Once Belle finished making his breakfast and loading it into the tray she left the kitchen, quickly noticing that the lit candles now led down a different path. She followed them and, as expected, they led down to the dining room, where Rumplestiltskin waited.

”Thank you for the candles,” said Belle. “I was afraid of getting lost.”

”Well, I was afraid of having to wait an eternity for my breakfast,” said he, playfully.

It was only when Belle was serving his tea that she realized something that made a chill run up her spine.

How did he know when to change the candles from leading to the kitchen to leading to the dining room? Had he been watching her? Could he know where she was at all times?

”Why do you seem so shocked, dearie?” asked he. “Have you seem one of the ghosts?” There was a teasing little smile in his face.

”I know ghosts don’t exist,” said Belle, mildly surprised by his good mood. She hadn’t expected him to be so light-hearted.

”Yes, keep telling yourself that.”

Rumplestiltskin ate his breakfast without thinking twice and Belle raised her eyebrows. His carelessness when eating what she served made her believe he wouldn’t be killed by poison. If he weren’t then surely he wouldn’t be so foolish. Well, maybe he just ate it because he had been watching her in the kitchen and knew for a fact that she wasn't trying to kill him in that particular morning.

”I could’ve poisoned that,” said she, mockingly. Perhaps it was a mistake to be so casual with him, but he didn’t seem very interested in formalities.

Rumplestiltskin took another bite before answering. “You could have, but it tastes fine. What a pleasant surprise.”

She thought of commenting on how he shouldn’t have been able to taste the poison, but decided not to. “If it surprises you so much that I haven’t tried to kill you yet then why even take me as a maid? Aren’t you scared for your life?” Had anyone told Belle yesterday that the Beast would be happy to be teased in such a manner, then she would have laughed at the notion. But now Rumplestiltskin only smirked, as if the subject was amusing to him.

”No, not in the least,” said he. “I very much doubt you’ll be able to hurt me, dearie, but if you do try you’ll be the one to die. I advise you to simply be a good maid and go dust something.” Rumplestiltskin waved his hand about and a duster appeared in the dining table. “You can start with this room.”

✿

Belle put herself to work and Rumplestiltskin went to wander about the castle as he so often did. Centuries ago he had loved the concept of immortality; it meant an eternity to explore and to study, to learn and understand every aspect of nature, to collect every precious item known to man. However, that passion of his didn’t last many decades. It died slowly and quietly, leaving only a spirit of silence in its place.

How ironic it was, that so many people were desperate for longer lives, but the only living being with an unending heartbeat only wasted himself away. Thinking of such subjects always reminded him of the distant past.

“These days I’ve been thinking an awful lot about many things,” said Rumplestiltskin’s adoptive mother, painted in the grey colors of death. “I’ve been thinking that we walk through this life slowly, not caring about a thing, or only caring about things that don’t matter, as if we're not going to die and have an eternity left to do whatever it is we dream of doing. And you can anyone that the end is near, and maybe some will feel slightly shocked, but everyone always gets going to the next task in our endless list of tasks as if they're sure they got another day.”

Rumplestiltskin wanted to hear more about his mother’s thoughts, but the sickly woman started coughing violently and asked to be left alone. The young boy didn’t understand much of what was said, but he always loved to simply hear his mother speak. Especially those days, when she seemed so inclined to speak about things she had always kept to herself.

His mother had wanted to be a bit of everything; a poet, a dancer, an actress, a singer, a painter. How sad it was, that she ended up as a simple housewife.

He had no explanation as to why he preferred to wander about the castle’s dark corridors rather than bury himself in his books. He simply did. At some point his library had become dull and he could no longer think of a single thing to entertain himself with, but walking about was better than simply laying in his bed and staring at the ceiling.

He thought of the maid as he walked.

Rumplestiltskin had waited outside of her room in the early hours of the day, as invisible as his magic allowed him to be, waiting to see exactly how she would attempt to slay him. But she didn’t. She prepared a good breakfast, then teased him about being so suspicious.

Not to say he intended to trust her anytime soon, but it was nice to see that she had some intelligence and backbone. She was certainly choosing to carefully plan his death rather than simply jump on the first opportunity she had, and that was respectable.

He entered a sitting room with an ornate fireplace, rushed by a sudden desire to watch the flames. With a movement of his hand the fire came alive. He sat nearby and remembered his childhood, when he would set little wooden sticks alight and watch them burn, hopelessly captivated by their destruction. His mother had called it senseless and the other boys had looked at him with childish disdain, but he never stopped setting the sticks aflame. Even centuries later his appreciation for fire had not been hindered.

”Excuse me,” said Belle as she entered the room. “I saw you coming in here and I was wondering if you wanted tea?”

She was offering him tea? How surprising. He had expected her to avoid him as much as possible, not to go out of her way to offer him drinks. “Just don’t poison it, dearie,” said he.

”I won’t,” said she, smiling, and left the room. After some minutes she returned with a tray. She served the tea, but didn’t leave afterwards, as a maid was expected to. “Can I ask you something, Rumplestiltskin?”

”Haven’t you already?”

Belle gave him a lopsided smile, but didn’t speak immediately after. Only after considering her words for a few moments did she. “Is it true that you drink blood?”

”Oh yes, I do.”

”But you ate breakfast and you drink tea…Isn’t that enough?”

”It doesn’t satiate me. I remain hungry until I drink blood.”

Belle didn’t seem very surprised, but her lips parted and closed time and time again before she spoke. “But how…how can you _eat_ people?”

Rumplestiltskin smirked and Belle’s cheeks reddened. She fully expected him to point out that he didn’t actually _eat_ anyone.

”I don’t know, dearie. How can you eat beef?”

”That’s not the same thing.”

”Oh, but it is. Men kill lesser animals in order to survive, and so do I. That’s all that there is to it.”

Belle was stricken and wanted to argue against him, but found herself unable to. She remembered a time, almost a decade ago, when her father sent her to the butcher to buy what they would eat for dinner. She found the fat, filthy man behind his house, pinning a live chicken’s neck on a stump of wood. Of course, Belle knew that animals were killed in order for the townspeople to eat, but she still felt an overwhelming curiosity to see exactly what the butcher did. And so she stood there, watching him bring down his heavy knife down the struggling animal’s neck, watching its blood squirt on the man’s shirt before he threw the corpse aside and went to pick another.

She went to her father crying immediately afterwards, not intending to buy any meat. The violence had terrified her, but her patient father had explained to her that “it’s just how things work,” though Maurice was kind enough to never again ask her to go to the butcher.

Rumplestiltskin put his teacup down and propped his face on his hand, now observing the fire. “We all do what we must to survive,” said he, quieter, though there was no melancholy in his voice.

She couldn’t read his expression, but she felt as if she understood him a bit more. 

”Then why don’t you kill children, if people are just lesser animals to you?”

Rumplestiltskin looked at her with widened eyes, though he didn’t wish to show that she had surprised him with her question. With her eyes illuminated by the flames she looked like a red goddess, and for a moment he felt his heart on his tongue, longing to tell her some of his secrets. But alas, he knew better. That foolish urge came upon him because he was lonely and she was pretty, but they only knew each other for a day – less than that.

She had no right to his honesty.

”The smaller the animals the less blood they have, dearie,” he said with a cruel, merciless smile that made Belle feel cold. “A child would barely be a dessert.”

She remained silent, clueless as to what to say, though she still dared stare at the Beast in a meaningless act of defiance, determined not to show her fear.

Rumplestiltskin snorted, but took her eyes away from her and leaned back in his chair. She collected herself and left the room, somewhat disturbed, but interested in talking with him more.

Did he truly feel no guilt? Or was he no different from a common butcher?

Belle picked up a candle from the wall and went back to her task of lighting the others, slowly illuminating the castle. She wished to open the windows to let the sunlight in, but was afraid Rumplestiltskin would disapprove. Surely there was a reason for all the heavy curtains.

She didn’t see him for the rest of the day. It had been mere luck that she had seen him in the corridor. He had not come speak with her about lunch or dinner, though she prepared enough food for the both of them.

After dining she shed her clothes and prepared a hot bath, but she couldn’t enjoy it as much as she imagined she would. It was the thought that he may have been watching her that perturbed. She comforted herself by thinking that if he did intend to use her sexually, then he would have done so already. If he truly wished to see her naked, there was no need for him to hide himself in thin air. She simply had no power to defend herself if he wished to have her, and surely he knew.

But he didn’t seem like a man that would do such a thing. When he gazed at her she didn’t see the spark of lust in his eyes, a foreign light that she had seem so many times in the men of Avonlea, crawling from her legs to her breasts, so shamelessly that she thought they wished for her to know of their fantasies.

Regardless of her unpleasant thoughts, she slept quickly, exhausted from the day’s work.

✿

Rumplestiltskin pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and tried to remember the taste of blood. It was similar to the taste of copper, but infinitely richer. Unlike other animals, like cows or chickens, whose blood was mostly tasteless, no human’s was exactly like another, and so every prey was a mysterious dish.

It had been another tiring day and he longed for his drink. Once again, the night reckoned evil things.

With a sly smile he wished for the silly maid to come at him with a blade, for if she did he could satisfy himself without any semblance of guilt.

Had he not been old and able to control his gluttony, he would have killed her already. But then, along with the memory of her illuminated by the fire, a dead, cold hand wrapped its bony fingers around his heart.

He remembered the touch of Midas and thought his own was similar. Though able to conjure unending wealth, he was plagued with the knowledge that he would destroy every living thing that came to know his warmth.

The decision was made in the starry laboratory.

The potion he held glowed red, warm and inviting. It was not quite ready to be consumed, but when it is it will make him forget it all; his beasthood – though that will come back to plague him eventually – all those nights spent in the dark, and even Baelfire. In a way, drinking it would be no less than suicide; losing one’s memories is no different from losing one’s identity. A confused stranger will come to live in his body, a man who doesn’t carry the weight of colossi in his heart. All Rumplestiltskin can do is hope that such stranger will be better than he ever was.

Still, though Rumplestiltskin knew that the potion held the only freedom he could hope to achieve, he was saddened by the thought of losing himself completely. He had no lovers, no friends, no son, and had never done anything truly worth remembering, but he didn’t want to be forgotten.

Once he drank the potion and forgot his poor excuse for a life, all that would be left to prove that he lived at all would be muddied footprints on the carpet and other small, similar signs, and so Rumplestiltskin decided to tell Belle not to clean some things, to leave some small traces of his presence in the castle. 

He leaned back in his chair and mocked himself with laughter. Such flicker of meaningless sentimentalism is so purely human that he was filled with a sense of joy; sign that there was still a man hiding under his skin. He had not been killed by the Beast, not completely.


End file.
